


Quickie

by nerakrose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Aromantic Character, Aromantic Harry Potter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Developing Relationship, Dick Pics, Established Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Millennial Existential Crisis, Polyamorous Character, Polyamorous Ginny Weasley, Polyamorous Harry Potter, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-War, Probably Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Relationship Negotiation, i'm sorry these tags are probably confusing and don't tell you jack, millennial depression, post-war blues, this fic sure is remarkably non-smutty for how much sex there is in it, wizard snapchat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 14:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16725189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: Harry's 8th year is going okay: he's got a girlfriend, the future is far away, and he has no choices to make. And then Malfoy starts sending him dick pics.





	Quickie

**Author's Note:**

> BIG THANKS to my beta [palavapeite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite) for saving my arse with regards to grammar on this one! Any mistakes and discrepancies in tenses that still remain are all mine. BIG THANKS also go to [epithalamium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epithalamium) who's been indispensable when it came to the aromantic part of this fic and for holding me to the fire with regards to finishing writing it.
> 
> treacletvrts made fanart of this fic! It's posted to tumblr [here](https://treacletvrts.tumblr.com/post/180933171554/wait-harry-turns-and-gently-shakes-malfoy). it's wonderful, and I hope you'll want to show the artist your appreciation with a reblog. (NB: It's somewhat spoilery for events late in the fic, so view at own risk.)

A Quickie is a clever thing that looks like an unassuming powder or snuff box, but is in reality a complicated communication device designed to send quick messages that dissipate when the recipient has seen it. It was designed by Fred and George during the war to send covert messages, though it never made it into common use, and so after the war George re-designed it and released it as a cool gadget to send your mates pictures of your food or written messages.

It pairs with any other Quickie device the owner chooses to pair it with, and since the messages still dissipate, it quickly became popular with the entire magical world. It stands to reason, then, that everyone at Hogwarts has one, including Harry, and that everyone has paired their Quickie with everyone else's, including Harry.

He's even paired his with Malfoy's Quickie, though Harry can't imagine _actually_ wanting to exchange messages with him, or pictures of his lunch for the matter. Malfoy is an odd duck anyway, and the only time they've spoken since the Battle (after which, Malfoy gave him a _hug_ , of all things. It was supremely uncomfortable. _A hug_. From _Malfoy_.) was when Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw Malfoy's shiny black Quickie--snuff box model--and said "Wanna pair up?" and Malfoy wrinkled his nose and said "Whatever." That was weeks ago.

It's therefore completely understandable that Harry is confused when his Quickie chirps and informs him that he's got a message from Draco Malfoy.

History of Magic has never been less exciting, so Harry surreptitiously opens his Quickie to see what on earth Malfoy's got to say to him. The mirror inside the snuffbox lights up and Harry taps the alert next to Malfoy's name. The alert has pulled his name to the top of the list of Harry's paired devices, the rest of the list being ranked in order of most frequent _communiqués_ , Ginny being highest ranked and Ron just below her.

The message is a picture of a dick. Malfoy's dick, presumably, because...because, why would Malfoy take a picture of somebody else's dick to send to him? 

Actually, why would Malfoy take a picture of his _own_ dick and send to him?

It's a very nice-looking dick. It's hard. Harry brings the Quickie closer to his face to look at the picture, and then yelps and nearly drops it when it chirps with a new message alert. Ron, who's sitting next to him, glances over. "You all right, mate?" he asks.

"Yeah," Harry says, tapping the new alert, making sure to hold the Quickie so Ron can't see the message. It's another dick pic from Malfoy. In this one he's got his hand wrapped around his dick, and is clearly in the process of jerking himself.

Also, it's _definitely_ Malfoy's dick. Harry recognises Malfoy's fingers. He's got very nice fingers. And apparently also a very nice dick. 

"You sure you're all right?" Ron whispers. "You're red in the face."

"I'm fine," Harry answers, and closes his Quickie. It doesn't chirp again. "It's nothing."

"Are y--oh, is Ginny sending you filth again?" Ron makes a face. "Don't tell me."

"It's filth," Harry says and Ron mimics gagging. He doesn't need to know it's not from Ginny. 

Harry looks around the classroom, but he already knows that Malfoy isn't there. They've got History of Magic with Hufflepuff, 7th and 8th years together. Actually, Harry's pretty sure that Malfoy's got a free period right now, which would certainly explain the wanking, if not the messages. Ginny's sitting a few rows behind him, so Harry gives her a grin before turning his attention back to Professor Binns. 

He'll figure out what's up with Malfoy later.

~*~

Malfoy is ignoring Harry in his usual manner, which is to say, he's eating his dinner and chatting to Pansy and Blaise, and not paying Harry a lick of attention. Harry wonders if he'd react if he were to stand up and yell "Oi Malfoy, what's with the dick pics?" Staring at him certainly isn't working.

"Harry, you should leave the poor boy alone," Hermione says, somewhere to his left. "He's just trying to live a normal life!"

"Yeah, sure," Harry says, thinking there's nothing normal about sending dick pics to people you don't speak to. He sips his pumpkin juice, frowning at Malfoy across the hall. _Look at me_ , he thinks at him. _Just look at me_.

He doesn't look. Harry huffs, and turns to Ron. "Have you ever sent a dick pic to someone?"

Ron splutters, pumpkin juice going everywhere. "What the hell, mate!"

Harry tosses him a napkin. "I'm just wondering what the appeal is, is all," he says.

"Er," Ron says. "I really don't want to know what kind of filth you're sending my sister, or intend to send to my sister, or--"

"I just don't get what the point of sending somebody a picture of your dick is," Harry says. "Why would somebody do that?"

"It's a sex thing," Ron says, the colour on his face matching his hair. "Uh."

"Yes, obviously." Harry frowns. "Ugh. Nevermind."

Hermione, who's been following this trainwreck of a conversation with increasing levels of alarm, now turns her keen eyes on Harry. "Harry, has _someone_ sent you a dick pic?"

Harry blinks. "That'd be absurd."

"Oh, well, if you want to send Ginny a dick pic--" she clears her throat-- "you should ask her first if she wants one. Not everyone wants a surprise dick on their Quickie." At this she gives Ron a meaningful look, accompanied with a totally unsubtle eyebrow raise.

Ron chokes on his pumpkin juice again.

Harry stares at the two of them and decides he's done with dinner; he leaves them to it and goes to find Ginny. Malfoy didn't ask if he wanted a dick pic but Harry didn't mind receiving it, as it were. Maybe Ginny has a better opinion.

~*~

Harry forgets about the dick pics until he's eating Ginny out and she's grabbed his Quickie to take pics to send to herself. 

"Ooohh, Malfoy messaged you today!" she says, tapping at the mirror.

"Mhf," Harry grunts. His mouth is a little occupied. 

"What'd he say?"

He stops for a second. "Do you want me to suck your clit or to talk?"

"Lemme ride you," she says, and then they scramble to change positions. Harry grabs the opportunity to kiss her before she settles on his dick. "Seriously though, what'd he want?"

"I don't know. He just sent me pictures." Harry's not really thinking about Malfoy's dick right now, not when Ginny's tits are right in front of him, all wonderful in his hands.

"What of?"

"His dick, I think."

Ginny cracks up laughing. "He sent you _dick pics_? Why?"

"Beats me." Harry works her clit with his thumb, which shuts her up (somewhat) for a while. 

She doesn't bring the dick pics up again until afterwards. "Do you think maybe he meant to send those to someone else?"

"Hm?" Harry asks. "Oh, the dick pics? I guess. I hadn't thought of that."

"You could send him one back," Ginny suggests. She picks up the Quickie, gesturing at Harry's sated dick with it.

"Now?" Harry looks at his dick. "Er, I don't think--"

"No, you're right. It should be hard." She tosses the Quickie back onto the bed.

"I could also _not_ send him a dick pic at all," Harry points out.

"But do you _want_ to send him a dick pic?"

Harry frowns.

"Did you _like_ the ones he sent?"

"Yeah," Harry says, without hesitation. "I mean, he's got a really nice dick."

Ginny laughs into his shoulder. "All right, then."

Harry doesn't know what that means so he decides to smother her with kisses instead, until she's all breathless with want all over again.

~*~

It's two days before Harry receives another dick pic from Malfoy. He’s received a tit pic from Ginny, though, and another of her clit and wet fingers, in that time. Both pics were fantastic, and Harry left class to meet her in a broom cupboard after the second pic to eat her out.

It's late evening when the messages from Malfoy come in, however, and Harry only opens the Quickie to look at them because he thinks maybe it's Ginny--she usually messages him ahead before she sneaks into the dormitory for a shag. It isn't Ginny. It's Malfoy's dick, waving hello from above the waistline of a pair of striped pyjama bottoms.

Harry has barely looked his fill before the Quickie chirps again, another picture coming through. Malfoy's fingers wrapped around his dick, thumb at the head.

He waits, but the Quickie doesn't chirp again. The message will dissipate as soon as Harry closes it, so he doesn't--just keeps looking at it. Eventually, though, he grabs the miniature quill attached to the Quickie and scribbles Malfoy a message. _Send more_.

Now he's got no dick pic, just a dark mirror and a hard-on. 

"Damn it," he mutters, wondering if he should message Ginny to come over, or just rub it out.

The mirror lightens up and chirps, Malfoy's name lit up at the top. Harry taps the message.

 _Your turn_ , it says, in Malfoy's neat cursive.

"All right, all right," Harry mutters, sitting up. He checks that the curtains are drawn closed, then lights the tip of his wand so he can see. If Malfoy wants to see his dick, it's...only fair he gets to see his dick. 

Harry pushes his boxers down and takes a picture of his hard-on and sends it to Malfoy. The mirror darkens as soon as the message leaves and Harry waits, dick throbbing, for a response.

It chirps in sooner than expected, but it's not a picture. 

_You can do one better_

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry says out loud.

"What's that?" Ron says, from somewhere behind the curtain.

"Nothing!" Harry says quickly.

"Whatever, mate."

Harry waits to see if Ron is going to continue talking, then casts a quick Silencing Charm. His Quickie's gone dark again, so he taps the mirror. Malfoy wants one better, so Harry takes five pictures of himself. He's so turned on that there's precome in the last picture he sends Malfoy.

He gets a picture back, and then another, and soon enough they are taking turns sending each other pictures of their wanking. At last, Harry receives a picture of Malfoy's cum-stained fingers, a pink tongue at the edge of the frame.

~*~

"I got another dick pic," Harry says to Ginny as they walk back to the castle after Quidditch practice. 

"Ohh? And?" she prods.

"I sent one back."

"Aaand?" Ginny's grinning.

Harry closes his eyes for a second. "It was really hot." He glances at Ginny. "I mean, like. _Really_ hot."

"Did you come?"

Harry shoots her a look that he hopes conveys just how ridiculous that question is. Of course he came.

"Do you think that's it, then?" She asks. "Do you think he's got what he wanted?"

"I don't know." Harry's not sure he's got what he wanted either. "I kind of want to--" No, that just won't do. Not when he's got a girlfriend.

Ginny stops. "You want to what?" She crowds close. "Fuck him?"

"He's got a really nice dick," Harry says, lamely.

"Go on."

"I want to put it in my mouth." There, cat's out of the bag. "I want to know what it's like to have him come in my mouth."

"Merlin's breath, Harry," Ginny swears. "Really?"

"Yeah." He shrugs.

"And if I gave you permission?"

" _What?_ "

She's got this speculative look on her face, like she's trying to figure something out. "You could try it," she says.

"But I'm with you," Harry protests. "It's just a dick pic."

"Yes, I'm not saying we're taking a break or anything. I'm just saying, if you want to suck some Malfoy dick, you can." Ginny shrugs. 

"Why?" Harry's got his hand in her hair now. It doesn't make sense, this, but he can't deny that he wants it.

"It's just sex, right?" She presses her body against his. They're both sweaty and gross, but Harry loves it.

"Yeah, I guess."

"So, go suck a dick." She kisses him. 

"Okay," Harry says. Then: "Do _you_ want to suck a dick?"

She laughs. "Always."

"No, I mean, somebody else's."

"Mmh, maybe. Are we opening up our relationship?" 

Harry shrugs. "If you want?" The thought of Ginny fucking somebody else doesn't disturb him as much as he thought it might. It's kind of hot, actually. "I mean, if I'm off sucking Malfoy dick, it's only fair that you get to suck other dick too. Or whatever else you want to suck. Or fuck."

"Mmh." She grins, knowing glint in her eye. "Do you want to hear about it afterwards?"

" _Yes_." He kisses her. "Do _you_ want to hear about it?"

"Maybe. I'll decide later." She grinds her pelvis against him. "Want to detour into the greenhouse?"

"Fuck yes. Let's go."

~*~

It's an entire week before Malfoy messages Harry again on the Quickie--just long enough that Harry starts to wonder if maybe he should message Malfoy first. Something like _hey want a blowjob_ or maybe _meet me in the prefect's bathroom?_ In the end he doesn't have to, because he's in History of Magic again and Malfoy has just sent him a dick pic.

 _Where are you? I'll suck you off_ , Harry writes back. Ron's making questioning eyes at him, but Harry just shakes his head.

 _4th floor secret alcove_ , Malfoy writes back. _Pear tree tapestry._

Harry's pulse goes up. That alcove--he knows it well, he's dragged Ginny in there a few times--is just round the corner. Harry stands up, and realises he's still in the middle of class. He makes a hasty excuse about a bathroom break and bolts.

The tapestry is unassuming, and when Harry pulls it aside it's to find Malfoy leaning against the wall, apprehensive look on his face. He's pulled his robe down but his hard-on is clearly visible under it. Harry pauses for a second, just looking at him, taking in the blush on Malfoy's cheeks and his clenched fists and the bulge at his front. 

He lets the tapestry fall into place behind him and drops onto his knees in front of Malfoy. "Give it to me," he says.

Malfoy blushes scarlet. He hesitates, but then he pulls his robes up and there it is, shining pink and ready for Harry's mouth. Malfoy puts his fist in his mouth as Harry's lips close around his dick. 

Harry loves it. He loves the muffled sounds Malfoy tries to hold back, the taste in in his mouth, the firmness--everything, really. He should've been sucking dick a lot sooner, he thinks. Malfoy comes fast, into Harry's throat and makes him choke up, but that's fine too. 

"Ahh," Harry says, wiping his mouth. "That was brilliant."

He doesn't receive an answer. Malfoy hasn't actually said a single word, which is pretty odd.

"You okay?" Harry asks.

"Yeah," Malfoy croaks. 

"I've got to go back to class," Harry says. He's uncomfortably hard, but he'll just--cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm on it, or something, it'll be fine.

"Okay," Malfoy says. He drops the bunched up robe he's been clinging to so it covers him up, then rubs his face. He looks...freaked out. 

"You sure you're okay?" Harry stands up, finally.

"Yes," Malfoy says, firmer this time. Harry frowns, but he's got no time for Malfoy's oddities so he just ducks out.

He casts the Charm on his dick and sneaks back into class, trying not to look like he just sucked dick in a secret alcove, or like he's pent up with the need for release.

~*~

"I sucked Malfoy's dick today," Harry whispers to Ginny at dinner.

"Great! I sat on Blaise's dick today," she whispers back.

Harry startles. "What? When?" He glances at Blaise, who's sitting with Malfoy. "What was it like?" he whispers.

Ron is giving them odd looks across the table. Harry ignores him.

"It was an experience," she whispers back. " _Fun_. I'm going to do it again." She grins and squeezes Harry's thigh under the table. "What was Malfoy's dick like?"

"It was a dick," Harry replies. "Uh, I liked it. I think _he_ liked it too."

"Yeah? Want to do it again?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." Harry looks over at the Slytherin table again. Malfoy's not looking his way at all. "It was...hot."

Ginny's breathing into his ear. "Did you come from sucking him off?"

"No. Didn't actually come at all," Harry says. "There wasn't time. I had to go back to class."

"You were in class?" She gasps, then laughs. "Oh, that's fantastic. What'd you do?"

"Nothing."

"You haven't...at all?" She slides her hand further up his thigh. Harry shakes his head. "I'm insulted on your behalf. The least he could do was give you a handjob--"

"There wasn't time," Harry protests. "I had to go back to class."

"But _after_ \--"

Harry shuts her up with a kiss. "I'm not upset about it," he tells her. "I enjoyed it. Even if he didn't blow me in return."

"What is going on?" Ron blurts out. He's looking vaguely green in the face.

"None of your business," Ginny says without looking at him. Harry just shrugs. He'll explain to Ron later if need be.

"But you're talking about--about--"

"None of your business," Ginny repeats. This time she glares at Ron. "Shoo."

"Talk to you later, mate," Harry says. To Ginny he says: "If you're so offended, you're more than welcome to sit on _my_ dick for a bit."

Ron makes an unholy sound and scoots away. 

Ginny's palm is rubbing Harry through his robes. "I'd love to sit on your dick. If you don't mind that I haven't washed yet. Since Blaise."

"Er." Harry's brain might be short-circuiting. "I don't think I mind."

~*~

Three weeks pass, with Harry meeting Malfoy all over the castle for mutual getting off, interspersed with brief messages on the Quickie and the occasional racy picture. They don't talk much, though Harry learns that if he drives Malfoy crazy enough, he'll run his mouth off praising Harry and everything he does, glorious, sexy, praise, and Harry fucking loves it. And he loves Ginny, for letting him have this with Malfoy, and for being gorgeous and sexy and sneaking into the dormitory more often, for waylaying him between classes and Quidditch practice for a shag more frequently than before. Between the two of them--Malfoy and Ginny--Harry's attention to his classes is dwindling and his marks are dropping, so when winter break rolls around he's almost relieved.

"I never thought I'd say this, but it's possible I'm getting too much sex," Harry says on the train. 

Ron squirms, but Hermione just raises an eyebrow like she means to say _yes, probably_ , but doesn't want to judge. Bless her, really. Ginny isn't in the compartment with them because she's off shagging Blaise in one of the loos, but will be back soon enough. 

Maybe Harry should track down Malfoy and shag him in one of the loos, also. Since it's winter break, and he won't see him for two weeks.

"You might catch up on some of your homework," Hermione says, in that I'm-totally-not-judging-but- _honestly-Harry_ tone.

Harry makes an assenting noise. He _should_ probably catch up on his homework. He should probably not have let it slide in the first place, but it's hard when he could be having sex with Malfoy, or Ginny, instead. And it's hard when Hogwarts feels like limbo, as if the war never happened and real life is never going to catch up with him. He might as well shag his brains out instead of worrying about classes.

It's not like he's the only one either. Everyone else is doing the same, getting laid all over the castle and acting like nothing is important because the world is in shambles. Which it kind of is, really.

"How do you do it?" Ron asks. His cheeks are red. He's finally stopped being squeamish about the whole thing, but the embarrassment doesn't look great on him either. "You two. I mean. Being with two people."

"I don't know, we just do it I guess." Harry shrugs. "It's just sex."

"And Ginny?" Ron frowns. "I thought you were in love."

Harry doesn't understand what that's got to do with anything. "We're just having fun? I'm not with her any less just because she's shagging Blaise too? Or because I'm shagging Malfoy. It's just all...sex." He shrugs again. If Ron won't understand, there's nothing Harry can do about it.

"Just leave them alone," Hermione says to Ron. "Nobody's getting hurt. Right, Harry?"

"Yeah."

Ginny comes back then, flushed and happy. She drops into Harry's lap. He kisses her. "Had fun?" he asks.

"Mmmh," she replies and kisses him again. 

~*~

Ron is staying with Hermione and her parents for the first half of winter break and the rest of Ginny's brothers aren't coming home until Christmas, so for the first week or so it's just Harry, Ginny, and Ginny's parents at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley lets Harry stay in Ginny's room with her, which has been amazing--getting to sleep with her (actual sleep, too), and wake up together, and enjoy lazy kisses and shags because they don't have to get up for classes or practice, and there's nobody around to disturb their privacy either. When they aren’t shagging or catching up on homework, Ginny’s outside crunching for Quidditch, and Harry’s in the kitchen with Mrs Weasley, learning cooking spells and how to make dishes clean themselves.

It's as close to paradise as paradise gets, Harry thinks, even if he's also taking the time to catch up on his homework. Ginny's behind as well, for the same reasons as Harry, though obviously her parents don't know that. 

Three days into winter break, Malfoy messages Harry on the Quickie. It's not a dick pic, and it's not a sexy message either; it's a picture of a plate of food. It looks posh, all very prettily plated and all, with little drops of sauce around the artfully arranged meat and vegetables. 

"That Malfoy?" Ginny asks from the other end of the dining table, where she's working on an astronomy essay. Harry's supposed to be writing an essay about antidotes. 

"Mmh," Harry answers. _Looks delicious_ , he writes to Malfoy.

 _I made it_ , is the prompt reply. 

Harry hesitates. _Wow_ , he writes, like an idiot. He sends the message.

_What are you having?_

Mrs Weasley is tinkering in the kitchen, so Harry asks her.

 _Bubble and squeak_ , he answers.

 _How quaint_ , Malfoy says.

Harry snorts and closes the Quickie. 

"What's he saying?" Ginny asks. 

"Posh shit," Harry says, and goes back to his essay. His Quickie doesn't chirp again, and when it does it's a message from Ron.

~*~

Mrs Weasley lets Harry and Ginny decorate the Christmas tree by themselves, and when they're done Harry sends a picture of the tree to Malfoy. Malfoy responds by asking him what he wants for Christmas.

 _I'm serious_ , Malfoy writes. _Mum and I are shopping for presents tomorrow._

"What do I want for Christmas?" Harry says out loud.

"Who's asking?" Ginny says, leaning onto his shoulder to look. "Ohh, Malfoy. You should ask for lube."

Harry doesn't want lube. (He's got plenty. So does Malfoy.) "I don't think that's what he means." He scribbles a reply. _I don't know_.

Malfoy doesn't reply for a very long time. _I want to get you something nice_.

 _Socks?_ Harry sends.

_That's not very romantic, is it?_

Well, no, but then again Harry doesn't think romance factors into their relationship. _I need new shin guards for Quidditch_ , he eventually writes. _What do you want for Christmas?_

_A lot of things I can't have._

_Be more specific,_ Harry writes. _Are you talking about peanut butter cups when you're allergic to peanuts or what._

_That too._

Malfoy doesn't elaborate and when Mrs Weasley asks him to help her in the kitchen, he forgets all about it.

Much later, when Harry's wrapped around Ginny in bed, smelling her freshly washed (and still damp) hair, Malfoy messages him again. 

_Would you consider coming over at some point in the next few days?_

"That Malfoy?" Ginny asks, sleepy. 

"Mmh," Harry replies. "Do you mind if I pop over to Wiltshire for a bit one of these days?"

"Go ahead." 

"Thanks." Harry kisses her. 

_I'll come over_ , he writes to Malfoy. _When?_

_Wednesday?_

_Sure._

~*~

Harry Apparates to Wiltshire on Wednesday, and finds Malfoy waiting for him outside Malfoy Manor. He's wearing some kind of cape and leather gloves, and greets Harry stiffly, as if he's eaten a book of manners for breakfast.

"Where do you want me?" Harry says and Malfoy rolls his eyes.

"Does your dick do all the thinking?" He gestures for Harry to follow. "We're going to the stables."

"Are we having a roll in the hay?"

"No."

"What then?"

"You'll see." Malfoy leads Harry round the Manor, to a smaller building sitting by what looks like a large riding track. There's a man there handling a large horse with wings.

"Are we having a threesome with your stableboy?" Harry whispers.

"Absolutely not." He takes Harry round the corner, and there is, Harry assumes, their final destination: an open carriage with two white horses (no wings) hitched to it. Malfoy exchanges words with someone who looks like a horse person, and then beckons Harry over.

"Are we going somewhere?" Harry asks, letting Malfoy direct him into the carriage to sit under a large quilt. To his surprise there's a couple of hot bricks by his feet.

"We're going on a date," Malfoy says, and joins him. He's got the leads (Harry thinks that's what they're called, at any rate they are leather strips connected to the harness on the horses) and soon enough, the horses are trotting away, pulling the carriage along.

"What are we going on a date for?" Harry's utterly perplexed. "I thought you wanted a shag."

"That too. I just wanted—" Malfoy's brow darkens. "I thought you liked me."

"I do like you." Harry frowns. "What's the problem?"

"There's no problem. Now pay attention. This is the scenic route."

Wiltshire isn't very scenic; there's been snow recently, but it's all gone and everything is muddy and grey and brown instead. It's chilly, but the hot bricks under the quilt keep Harry warm.

"How's your holiday been?" Harry asks. Making small-talk with Malfoy instead of shagging him is odd, but Harry's surprised to discover he's genuinely interested. 

"Boring," Malfoy answers. "I--" His cheeks colour. "I missed you."

"Oh," Harry says. "I--"

"Probably didn't miss me," Malfoy says. "Bet you haven't thought of me even once. Been spending a lot of time with Miss Weasley, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought of you," Harry argues.

"You haven't really messaged me."

"Because you didn't message me!" Honestly, what is Malfoy on? Acting all put upon for no reason. It's not like Malfoy doesn't _know_ that Harry's got a girlfriend. Everybody knows that. "And I'm here, aren't I?" he adds, annoyed. 

"I just wish--"

"What?"

Malfoy doesn't say anything and the air between them is frostier than the actual air around them.

"I'm jealous," Malfoy says eventually. "I'm jealous that she gets to spend the entire break with you and I don't, and I'm jealous that she's your girlfriend and I'm not."

"You can be my girlfriend if you want, Malfoy." Harry can't help it. He's still annoyed.

"You know what I mean."

"Well, yeah, but you're the one who ambushed me into a date. You could've just asked."

"Would you have said yes?" Malfoy's holding himself very tightly.

Harry shrugs. "Can't see why not. We've been shagging for almost a month."

"What about Weasley, then?"

"What about her?"

"If we're going to be properly together, are you going to give her up then?"

"Why'd I do that?" Harry frowns. "Why can't I have you both?”

"That's not how people usually do it, you know."

"Yeah well, I'm not people." 

"Clearly." Malfoy sighs. "Very well."

~*~

"Turn around," Malfoy says. Harry obeys. Malfoy does a fantastic job at eating his ass out and Harry thinks they should've been doing this a lot sooner. It feels bloody fantastic. "Look at you," Malfoy says, after a while, all breathless. "Fuck."

"Mmh," Harry replies. "You hard again? Go on, stick it in."

"Give me a second," Malfoy says. "You can bloody wait."

Harry doesn't wait long, however, and soon enough Malfoy is fucking him in earnest. That also feels bloody fantastic. Harry would probably never tire of it. 

“I want you,” Malfoy pants, “so fucking much.”

"Yeah," is all Harry can manage in response. 

Afterwards, with hay sticking to their damp skin, when Harry's pulled Malfoy down to lie on top of him, Malfoy says something very confusing. He says: "I'm in love with you." He says it with his face smothered against Harry's collarbone so it comes out a bit muffled and a bit weird, but Harry hears it all the same.

"You don't have to lie," Harry says. "We’re already shagging."

"I'm not lying." Malfoy bristles. "Why the fuck would I lie about that? _I'm in fucking love with you_." He’s intense and angry and maybe upset—there’s a lot of emotion in Malfoy’s voice, but the one Harry can see most clearly is anger.

"Oh," Harry says, blinking. Nothing Malfoy is saying makes sense.

Malfoy snorts. "I take it you're not in love with _me_ , then."

Harry isn't, but it feels like saying that out loud would be a mistake. Even if it's true.

"You're in love with _Weasley_ ," Malfoy says then, and it sounds final. "So I'm…" He moves, like he wants to leave, and Harry doesn't want him to leave.

"No," Harry says. He's not in love with Ginny either. He doesn't think he's ever been, but he likes her very much. And he likes Malfoy very much too, even if he's kind of prickly and a lot odd, but he's also funny and Harry's learned things about him that just make him real. He _likes_ him. 

"No what?" Malfoy has sat up, and is looking for his robes. It's dark in the hayloft, and dusty, and their robes are a twisted mess. "No you're not in love with her or no I'm not your side piece?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Of course it matters."

"I don't know," Harry says. He hasn't moved yet; he's too sore and sated to want to, even if it's getting cold and the hay uncomfortable. "Throw me my clothes."

Malfoy throws Harry's jeans right at his face.

~*~

“You have straw in your hair,” Ginny says when Harry comes back from Wiltshire. “What have you been doing?”

“Shagging,” Harry replies. “Can we go to your room?”

Malfoy didn’t seem entirely happy when Harry left, which is troubling, and not only because Harry thinks Malfoy might break up with him soon. He doesn’t want to stop having sex with him, but he also doesn’t want to continue having sex with him if there is an imbalance, or something, that is upsetting Malfoy. And maybe Ginny isn’t the right person to talk to, but maybe she is.

“What is it?” She asks as soon as the door is closed between them and the rest of the house. 

“Are you in love with me?” Not what Harry means to say, but there it is.

“Yeah, of course I am. Did you doubt that?” She’s looking at Harry as if he’s a puzzle. Harry doesn’t feel like a puzzle, he feels like an already solved mystery.

“Oh,” he says. Then: “what does it feel like?”

“It feels like being in love,” she says, still looking at Harry like he’s a puzzle.

“But what does it _feel_ like? How do you _know_?” The real puzzle isn’t Harry, it’s how people can be _in love_ in with him—how that’s apparently a thing that exists, a thing that’s supposedly different from _love_ , and not just a keyword phrase for ‘let’s bang’.

“I just know,” she says. “It’s a feeling.” She taps her chest where her heart is, and Harry has heard this before, this non-explanation, and it never made any sense and it still isn’t making any sense.

“Humour me,” he says, annoyance rising. “What’s it supposed to feel like when you’re in love with someone?”

Instantly, her face and posture changes. “What’s going on? Harry?”

What is he supposed to say? He’s already handled Malfoy wrong. Whatever he’s going to say next might hurt Ginny too, even if that’s not what he wants. 

“What happened?” she asks, then, and it’s a different question.

“Malfoy said he’s in love with me,” Harry says, “and it doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it does,” she says, thoughtfully. “It’s plain as sight that he is. I thought you were in love with him too?”

“No?” Harry blinks. “What do you mean, plain as sight?”

“Oh he’s just,” she gestures, “the way he looks at you. I thought you knew. So you don’t return his feelings?”

The in-love-feelings? No, Harry does not ‘return Malfoy’s feelings’. “I’m not in love with him—with anyone,” he adds. “I don’t think so anyway. It doesn’t make sense. How would I know?” He pulls at his hair in frustration, and oh yeah, there’s straw in it. Fucking hay. Fucking feelings bullshit.

Ginny is quiet, staring at him. At least she’s not looking at him like he’s a puzzle anymore. “So you’re not in love with _me_.” It’s not a question.

“No,” Harry answers. “I don’t think so.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I would _know_ , wouldn’t I?” That last part comes out more sarcastic, more aggressive than he intends. It sounds cruel.

“Wow,” Ginny says, and leaves the room.

Harry drops onto the bed, face down, his body all frustration and exhaustion wrapped in one. Ginny doesn’t come back.

Eventually, Harry picks up his Quickie to write Malfoy a message.

 _I have straw in my hair_ , he writes. 

There’s no reply.

 _I’m sorry_ , Harry adds, twenty minutes later. Malfoy doesn’t reply to that either.

He decides to go help Mrs Weasley with dinner.

~*~

"I'm sorry," Harry says to Ginny when she comes back inside from pelting the shed with Quaffles.

Her cheeks are rosy and sweaty strands of hair cling to her forehead when she takes her hat off. "I know," she answers. "There is one thing I need to know, though. Is it a Thing or is it a Me Thing?"

"I don't know?" Harry wants to touch her. "I don't think it's a You Thing. Maybe it's a Thing."

"Okay," she says. "I think I can accept that."

"Okay?" Harry frowns at her. "Are you sure? Because I don't think it's going to be any different. It's always been like this."

"Yeah. The way I see it, maybe I have too much love and it all balances out." She bites her lip. "I'm in love with Blaise, too. I wasn't sure how to tell you."

"Oh."

"Is that okay for you?"

Harry thinks it might be. "It's a good thing, isn't it? Being in love?"

"I think it's supposed to be. Sometimes it hurts." She comes over to kiss him. "It's how you know you're in love. When it hurts."

That doesn't sound good to Harry at all. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "You should be happy."

"I am. I've got both of you, haven't I?" There's a touch of insecurity there. "And...in a strange way, I don't have to worry that you'll end up loving Malfoy more than me."

"Were you really worried about that?"

"Yeah." Ginny laughs. "It seems silly now."

"I _do_ love you," Harry says, then. "Just not...romantically." It's such an odd word anyway—Harry had thought it was just a word, something to describe the difference between a person you love and a person you love and also want to shag. Though he didn’t love Malfoy before they started shagging, and he isn't sure he does now either. He likes him. Maybe if they become friends he'll grow to love him? 

How do you know when you love someone? Harry looks at Ginny and knows he loves her, like he knows he loves Ron and Hermione and Sirius—and how painful it'd been when Sirius died. Would he grieve Malfoy if he died?

Yeah, probably, Harry thinks. That's the litmus test, then—he cares about Malfoy because he’d be upset if he died. 

~*~

On Christmas morning, there’s a package from Malfoy amongst all the other packages: new shin guards for Quidditch. 

_Thanks_ , Harry writes on the Quickie. _They fit perfectly. How’s your Christmas?_

Malfoy has yet to respond to any of Harry’s messages, since their ‘date’ in Wiltshire, so Harry has no hopes of getting a message back. It’s starting to feel silly to message him anyway, but Harry has brand new shin guards sitting on his lap, so. Maybe this time he’ll respond.

“Is he still giving you the cold shoulder?” Ginny asks. She’s curled up next to Harry on the sofa. 

They went back to normal pretty quickly, which is a relief and a half. 

“I think so.” Harry puts the Quickie away, disappointment blooming in his gut. 

Malfoy doesn’t message Harry back all day. Harry spends the day trying not to think about it, instead eating his fill and playing games and soaking in that special feeling of belonging he always feels at the Burrow.

It’s a weird Christmas, though, because Fred isn’t there, and even if they all do their best to have a good time, it’s...not all good, it’s not all _okay_. 

Malfoy messages back late. It’s past midnight and Harry is almost asleep. Ginny already is, her breathing calm and even, and she doesn’t stir when the Quickie chirps. 

_Depressing_ , is all Malfoy writes and it takes Harry a minute to remember what he’s responding to. 

_Yeah_ , Harry writes back. The little mirror lights up the room and Harry angles it away from Ginny so she won’t wake. _But it’s not all bad_.

_Why are you like this?_

Harry stares at the mirror until it goes dark, the message vanishing with it. _Like what?_

 _Relentlessly optimistic. Carefree_.

 _Most of the time I’m only pretending_ , Harry writes. _So it won’t all crush me_.

Malfoy is quiet for a long time, until: _Merry Christmas_.

 _Ha_.

~*~

The last day of the winter holidays is all packing and preparing to go back to Hogwarts. Harry is all caught up on homework and has been able to chill for a few days, hang with whoever wants his company, exchange messages with Malfoy on the Quickie, and stuff his face with leftovers. 

Now, however, he’s worried about seeing Malfoy again. The cocoon that the Burrow has been can’t last forever—and Harry doesn’t want it to—but this thing with Malfoy doesn’t seem quite right again. Even if they’re back to chatting and sending each other racy pictures at every opportunity.

Hermione comes into Ginny’s room, looking for a shirt she’s lent her. Ginny is downstairs dealing with a final load of laundry, so all Hermione finds is Harry and his weird mood.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” Hermione says.

“What does it feel like to be in love?”

“That’s a tough question,” Hermione replies, thoughtfully. “It really depends. It can be painful, and it can be good, and happy, and safe, and anxious—I think I’ve been through the entire spectrum of emotion in that regard.”

“So how do you know…” Harry frowns. “What’s the difference between regular happy and in love happy? And regular pain and in love pain? And all that?”

“It’s kind of _more,_ ” she says, after a while. “A stronger feeling, more than just friendship. It’s painful when the other person doesn’t love you back or has hurt you, in a different way from if it’s just one of your friends being an arse. And it’s...this extra strong love directed at a specific person,” she adds.

Harry doesn’t like the sound of that at all. He doesn’t feel like his love for Ginny is somehow lesser for not being... _romantic_. It’s bullshit, this implication that maybe he’s lacking, that he’s not doing it right—love is love, isn’t it, who cares _how_ it is?

“Are you all right?” Hermione asks then. “Is everything okay with you and...Ginny? Or Malfoy?”

“I’m fine. We’re fine. I was just thinking, that’s all.” He tries to sound carefree, like it’s no big deal, just a random question out of the blue.

Nobody (ok, two people) seems to have a clear answer to what being in love is, and it’s not doing anything to convince Harry it’s a real thing at all. It _should_ be a definable concept—and maybe Hermione is right, but the love hierarchy she sketched out just doesn’t...vibe with him. It doesn’t feel right. 

But maybe she’s right. And maybe Malfoy has been weird because he’s in love and in pain because Harry doesn’t ‘return his feelings’, and that...is a depressing thought. He should probably talk to him. (And maybe also suck his dick because honestly, Harry _has_ missed Malfoy. And his dick.)

~*~

_Come sleep in my bed_ , Harry writes Ginny. It feels weird to not share her bed anymore, and even though he's slept alone in this particular bed for years, it feels empty now.

 _Can't I'm at Blaise's_ , Ginny writes back. A few seconds later she's sent him a picture; it's dark and she's clearly in a bed (Harry can see Blaise's dark arm around her) but she's blowing Harry a kiss. 

Harry takes a picture just like that and sends back to her. _Have fun_ , he adds.

He hasn't talked to Malfoy yet. He saw him briefly in the Great Hall earlier, and gave him a wave. Malfoy waved back.

 _Come sleep in my bed_ , Harry writes and then after a moment of deliberation sends it to Malfoy.

 _Why?_ is the prompt response.

 _Because I want to sleep with you_ , Harry writes back. _I mean sleep_. 

_Come here then_ , Malfoy writes back.

Harry doesn't need to think about it: he gets out of bed. He's in pyjama bottoms and nothing else, so he grabs a school robe to quickly pull over himself, the Marauder's Map and his wand, and then sets off.

_I'm on my way, he writes. I'll need the password._

Malfoy is waiting for him in the Slytherin common room when Harry comes through. "I didn't think you'd actually come," he says.

"I said I was," Harry answers. "Come on, let's go to bed. I'm tired." It's only a little lie; he's not so much tired as he just wants to get warm and comfy, and if it means he gets to have Malfoy close at the same time that's just a bonus. Malfoy always smells good. Harry really wants to stick his nose in Malfoy's hair right about now.

"Why me?" Malfoy asks. He hasn't moved, and he's giving Harry a weird look. Like he's insecure. "Why not your girlfriend?"

Harry is definitely too tired for this talk right now so he says the only thing he can think of that is also true: "I missed you."

"Oh." Malfoy has no business looking this surprised.

"Sleep?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, okay," Malfoy says. 

The dormitory is dark and quiet, all curtains pulled but Malfoy's. His bed looks soft and inviting, and Harry doesn't hesitate to pull off his school robe and crawl in. The sheets smell fresh, which is almost disappointing, but then Malfoy joins him and Harry folds himself around him.

Malfoy's hair smells amazing.

"Hey," Malfoy whispers, turning just enough to kiss Harry. "I missed you too."

"I know." Harry wants to stay in this bed forever. "I'm sorry I was an arse."

Malfoy seems like he wants to say something more, but then he doesn't and just settles back down. Harry inhales deeply.

~*~

There’s a lot to be said for sleeping with another person, and if Harry were in any state of mind to articulate it, he would. As it is, he’s too preoccupied with a) trying to stay asleep for a little longer so he doesn’t have to move, or get out of the bed, and b) relishing in the knowledge that part of Malfoy is _definitely_ awake and that it might be worth skipping breakfast for.

“Potter. Hey. _Potter_.” Malfoy is whispering. Harry responds by moving just so, eliciting a sharp gasp. “ _Bastard_. I knew you were awake.”

“I am _now_ ,” Harry says. “What about it?” He finally opens his eyes to find that Malfoy is (probably) looking at him. Where are his glasses? 

And now Malfoy isn’t talking, so Harry decides to take matters into his own hands and pulls him in for a kiss and some serious grinding.

“Shh.” Malfoy puts his hand over Harry’s mouth, even though he’s the one making all the noise. 

“Mmpfhh, Harry says, then licks Malfoy’s palm to get him to remove it. “ _You_ shut up.”

Harry’s Quickie chirps from somewhere under the pillows, but he ignores it in favour of getting Malfoy off.

“You like that, don’t you?” Harry whispers. It’s dark within the confines of the bed, but Malfoy is very clearly and very deliciously flushed, as always, and is now making an effort to keep quiet; the rest of the dormitory is stirring. 

The Quickie keeps chirping and Harry keeps ignoring it, Malfoy’s Quickie starts chirping also, and it doesn’t matter until they’re done and sated. Harry wipes his mouth, Malfoy sighs and uses his wand to vanish the come off the sheets.

"You hungry?" Malfoy asks.

"Starving," Harry says, because he's always hungry. Have they missed breakfast? He realises he has to go all the way back to Gryffindor tower and get dressed before he can reasonably appear in public. "Ugh, save me some food? I need to go get dressed."

Harry's Quickie chirps again. "Oh for the love of…" He digs it out from the pillows (where he also finds his glasses) and flips it open, settling back against Malfoy. All the messages are from Ginny, starting with _are you with Malfoy?_ And _guys you are giving us a full show_ (Malfoy makes a noise) and ending with _I bet 10 galleons that Malfoy came first please tell me he did because I don't have 10 galleons and Blaise is insufferably smug about the whole thing_ (Malfoy makes _another_ noise) and _just ask Ron to bring you your stuff silly_. 

"Oi!" Harry tugs the curtain aside to look out. He sees nothing but the bed next to Malfoy's, which is empty. "Ginny!"

"Yes?" She comes round, wearing what is clearly Blaise's bathrobe. "Fancy meeting you here."

Malfoy makes a sound, this one sounding rather more mortified than the first two, and covers his face with a pillow. Harry sighs. Blaise comes round too, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at Harry and Malfoy. 

"Privacy spells exist for a reason," Blaise says.

"Yeah," Harry says, though he doesn't think it's fair to expect him to think of trivial matters such as _privacy spells_ when he's got Malfoy's dick pressing into his thigh.

"About that bet?" Ginny asks, grinning.

"Fuck off," Harry says, but doesn't really mean it.

"Fine," she says and leans down to kiss him. "See you at breakfast?"

"Yeah, I guess."

She leaves with Blaise and Harry turns his attention to Malfoy, who's still hiding under the pillow.

"Come out."

"I don't want to," says Malfoy, through the pillow. 

"But I want breakfast," Harry says. "Can I borrow some of your clothes?"

Malfoy comes out from hiding. "I thought I heard kissing noises. Did she really just...kiss you? Before?"

"Yeah?"

"But you just…"

"Yes. I did." Harry leans in to kiss Malfoy, who yelps but then melts into the kiss. 

"Okay," Malfoy says. "And yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes you can borrow some clothes."

~*~

The weeks pass and Harry splits his time between Ginny, Malfoy, and the rest of his friends—schoolwork sliding by yet again. Studying for N.E.W.T.S seems as pointless as it's always done, the time After Hogwarts being weirdly abstract and non-existent. It's hard to picture a future without...without the daily grind of Hogwarts and the ever-present dread and certain knowledge of having to face Voldemort once again.

The future is strange and terrifying, and Harry pretends it doesn't exist. It's much easier to be alive in the present, when the only thing he has to think about is the day's schedule; classes, Quidditch, sex, and meals. Whose bed he's sleeping in that night (or who's sleeping in his), four inches of Potions essay, treacle tart for dessert, Wizarding chess with Ron, studiously ignoring the career pamphlets on the message board in the common room.

"What are we?" Malfoy asks one night, while Harry is riding his dick. 

"Friends, I hope?" Harry says.

"Just friends?"

Harry stops, just so he can look at Malfoy properly. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"You say it like it's just _friends with benefits_ ," Malfoy says. "So I guess that means you don't love me. I’ve been wondering.”

"We were never _friends with benefits_ ," Harry says, annoyed now. He climbs off Malfoy's dick. "We weren't friends when we started this, but I'd hoped we'd _become_ friends."

"And I'd hoped we'd become something _more_ ," Malfoy says. "But I'm still your side piece, and she's still your girlfriend, and I'm an idiot. Because clearly," he gestures, "you're never going to be in love with _me_ , but you'll be in love with _her_ —"

"I'm not in love with her," Harry interrupts.

Malfoy stares at him. "So what does that mean? Will you leave her?" He sounds odd.

"No. I like her. And I like you. I want to keep you both." Harry tries to quell the annoyance. He'd rather go back to fucking his own brains out on Malfoy's dick than have this conversation. It didn't go well the last time. "I'm not a falling in love kind of person."

"It's just that...it doesn't feel legitimate," Malfoy says, after a while. "What we do. What we are.”

"That doesn't make sense. We're doing it. We’re here, we’re together. Doesn't that make it legitimate?" 

"I just mean, you don't...we're never together in public. You're everywhere with her, holding hands and stuff, and me you'll only see in secret."

"Do you want to hold hands with me in the hallways? Is that what this all is about?" Harry is pretty certain there's nothing secret about his and Malfoy's relationship. Ron has accepted it. People know. Don’t they? 

"No! Yes! I just want—" Malfoy makes a frustrated noise. "I want to be _legitimate_."

"I'll hold your hand whenever you like, Malfoy."

"As _if_." Malfoy levels a look at him. "You've never even kissed me in public."

"How does hand-holding rank above kissing?" Harry asks. "I don't understand what you're getting at. We're _together_. Aren't we?" 

Malfoy's cheeks are red.

"Are you jealous? Is that it?"

"No," Malfoy eventually answers. "Not really. But I can't help but think about the future—"

"I'm definitely _not_ thinking about the future."

"—because I think you'll go be with her, after, and marry her, and I'll be left behind, and I don't want that."

 _Marry Ginny_? Harry's brain screeches to a halt. He can barely make decisions a few weeks into the future, he's definitely not thinking about _getting married_. He doesn't know what he'll do when he leaves Hogwarts—abruptly he realises that neither Ginny nor Malfoy factor into the void-shaped future, that absolutely nothing does because he just can’t picture the future at all, even if the one thing he does know is that he wants to keep both of them. 

"You're solid," Harry eventually says. "I don't have any plans for the future. But you and Ginny—you're both solid."

"You can't marry both of us."

"Maybe I'll marry neither of you," Harry retorts. "I don't know that I want to get married at all."

Malfoy makes a frustrated sound. "What if I do?"

"To _me_?"

"Yeah."

"Bloody hell, Malfoy. We just survived a fucking _war_. I didn't think I had a future at all, and now you're, what, _proposing_ to me? All I want is just to, continue. This. Whatever we are doing."

"And what if I want a more solid definition of our relationship?" Malfoy looks upset now. "What if I need to feel secure about _something_ , since nothing else feels safe?"

“So you want to put a ring on it?”

“No, I just want to know for certain that we’ll still be a thing come summer, and that you won’t forget all about me!” 

Harry stares at him, his mussed hair and flushed skin and the lines in his brow. “I don’t think I could ever forget,” he finally says. “I don’t want to forget. I told you, I want to keep you.”

“All right.” Malfoy exhales. His eyebrows ease into their normal shape. “We should make plans.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, even if the thought alone is making his skin crawl. “I _had_ a plan though, and it involved your dick and my arse. Any chance yo—“

“On your back,” Malfoy says, surging forward to kiss him. 

~*~

There are many things about Ginny which are perfect, such as her freckles, the shape of her nipples, and her steely determination to quash the opposite team. Harry has learned by now that a good match (whether they lose or not) means a hot and quick shag in the broom shed afterwards.

“You were amazing,” Harry says, his trousers around his ankles and Ginny pinned between him and the door. Her trousers are almost all the way off, hanging off one foot with the other bare, her boots somewhere on the floor. She moves expertly against him, slick and hot.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” she says, and bites down on his shoulder. “I fucking love you.”

Harry doesn't answer, uncertain whether this is one of _those_ love yous or a just regular one, and it's silly to worry about but he worries anyway—Ginny knows, she understands, but saying the wrong thing is only going to mess things up. So he doesn't say anything and just gets her off.

"Ahh," she gasps, and Harry grins, pleased with himself. "Fucking hell."

"Perfect," he says and kisses her, and kisses her. "Let me taste you."

Ginny makes a noise into his mouth. "You have an oral fixation," she says. "But godyes, _please_."

~*~

“Do you know what you’ll be doing after Hogwarts?” Harry asks Ron at breakfast. “I mean...like a job, or something?”

“George promised me a spot in the joke shop,” Ron says. “So probably that.”

“Cool.” Harry shovels more bacon onto his plate. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“Do you know who you’ll live with after Hogwarts?” Ron asks then, and Harry stops chewing for a second.

“ _Who_?”

“I mean,” Ron says, “will you live with Ginny or Malfoy? And what about Blaise?”

Harry looks over at the Slytherin table, where Ginny is sitting with Blaise. Malfoy is sitting on Blaise’s other side, talking to Pansy. “I don’t know,” he says. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

Ron sounds like he’s choking on pumpkin juice. “Mate,” he says. “I know this all is very unconventional but you’re all happy yadda yadda, but you should probably sort out your living arrangements.”

“Have you sorted yours?”

“Course. Hermione and I are getting a flat together in Godric's Hollow.” Ron shrugs, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. Maybe it is. “Will you be living at Grimmauld Place?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe.” Who would he live with? 

It feels like a choice, and Harry understands what Malfoy was on about the other day. If he decides to live with Ginny, his relationship with Malfoy would become...secondary, somehow. It’s hard to imagine him coming over and staying the night in...some place that’s his _and_ Ginny’s, maybe in a bed that is his _and_ Ginny’s—the idea of kicking her out of it (even if she could just go to Blaise’s) is absurd. But so is the reverse scenario, the one in which he lives with Malfoy and Ginny is the one visiting.

Maybe Harry is just going to live alone and then Ginny and Malfoy can take turns to visit or he them. Or maybe they could just all live at Grimmauld Place? There are bedrooms enough for all of them. Blaise can come too. It’d be more like Hogwarts then, wouldn’t it? Like postponing adulthood indefinitely, in some way. Sneaking in and out of beds and all. Well maybe not so much sneaking, really, since there'll be no curfew.

“You’re not gonna be sick, are you?” Ron asks. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“No,” Harry says, even as his insides are liquefying. “Do you think if I fail my N.E.W.T.S I can repeat another year?”

“There are make up exams,” Ron says, shrugging. “Nobody ever repeats a year. Well, until now.”

Harry knows he has to face the future eventually and can’t just keep coming back to Hogwarts, but the thought of failing his exams is definitely sweet. The decision would be out of his hands, then. He could just give himself up to fate.

~*~

Malfoy knows exactly what he wants to do after Hogwarts, it turns out. It’s almost disappointing, and not only because he told Harry to stop feeling him up in the library but also because it means that Harry is alone in feeling unmoored in time and space.

“What if _I_ don’t know?” Harry hasn’t opened his potions book yet, but Malfoy’s almost done with his own essay. 

“You’ll figure it out,” he says, without looking up.

“Can’t I just do the same as you?” 

“Not with that work ethic, you can’t,” Malfoy says. “Besides, do you even _want_ to?”

“Not really,” Harry admits. It’s just that there’s nothing else he’d _rather_ do. Except maybe Malfoy, but Malfoy is in a studying mood so that’s not going to happen anytime soon. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Malfoy repeats. “Eventually.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and it doesn't mean anything.

~*~

"What are you going to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asks. Ginny's on the other end of the good sofa in the Gryffindor common room, her feet curled under Harry's legs, astronomy book in her lap.

"Quidditch," she replies promptly. "I've got myself onto all the try-out lists."

Harry blinks. "Oh," he says. It's not that he doesn't know she's serious about Quidditch, because he does know that. It's more that it didn’t register in his mind as something that could actually be done, as a thing that had steps one could take, a process, and maybe at the end of it... _do_ it. "So...the Harpies?"

"If they'll have me," Ginny answers, just casually enough that Harry understands that if they won't have her, it'll break her heart. 

"Of course they will," he says. "You're the best player on the team."

She smiles. "Thank you."

Harry watches her, the fierce look in her eyes and the fragile hope in her heart, and knows that he loves her and that she'll get on the team one way or another. She's never given up on anything in her life, and if the Harpies won't recognise that determination then they don't deserve her anyway. "I mean it," he says. 

~*~

The future is a volatile beast, speeding when inconvenient and slowing to a crawl when inconvenient—nothing about it is convenient, really, and especially not when it hurtles itself at Harry kicking and screaming because he’s ignored it for too long.

Harry has missed every deadline there is for any further education programs there are, if ‘missed’ can be defined as ‘deliberately ignored them so as to not have to make a choice’.

“That doesn’t mean there’s less choice, it just means there’ll be another chance to apply next year,” Hermione says.

“Thanks,” Harry says, tonelessly. 

“What will you do in the meantime?” Hermione asks, with the airs of someone who hasn’t even considered that Harry might not want to go through more schooling.

“Find a job, I guess,” he says, wondering if managing two relationships can be a full time job. It sounds wonderfully non-glamorous and peaceful, like something he wouldn’t mind—not even that, it just _might_ be how he can make peace with the future. “I think maybe I’ll just be a housewife,” he adds.

“House-husband,” says Ron as he joins them. “I think it’s bloody brilliant.”

“Do you think it’ll be challenging enough?” Hermione’s frowning. “Won’t you be bored?”

“I don’t want _challenging_ ,” Harry says. “I want _comfort_. I just want to be alive, and happy, and at peace.”

Hermione looks at him as if she’s going to cry, and Harry really wishes she wouldn’t. “Of course,” she says, softly.

“Housework _is_ challenging work,” Ron chimes in. “You should talk to mum, she’s the best there is at household spells and home management.”

“Oh,” Harry says, surprised and pleased to have Ron’s explicit support. “Thanks mate. I’ll talk to her.”

Hermione doesn’t look like she’s going to cry anymore, but the frown is back. Harry isn’t concerned—he ignores it; whatever Hermione might think about his lack of ambition, he decides not to care.

House-husband sounds better and better the more Harry thinks about it.

He spends a few weeks letting the word knock about in his head, slipping over his tongue and into the air, trying it on. It fits.

~*~

“Do you want to live with me?” he asks Malfoy one evening in the Gryffindor dormitory. Malfoy’s pressed against his back, hot and heavy.

“What,” he mumbles.”Sure. Go to sleep.” 

Harry asks again in the morning and Malfoy blinks owlishly at him, and then says yes.

He asks Ginny one morning over breakfast. She makes noises over her porridge but then says she’ll think about it. Later, when she’s got Harry on his knees in a hidden alcove, she says yes.

Blaise looks at Harry as if he’s grown another head. “With you _and_ Draco _and_ Ginny?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and shrugs. “If you want.” 

“Huh,” Blaise says. “That’s crazy. I _love_ it. I’m in.” He eyes Harry thoughtfully. “Why, though? You and I aren’t friends.”

Harry shrugs again. “We could be? Ginny loves you. And you’re Malfoy’s friend.”

“Mmh,” Blaise says, nodding. “You know, maybe you should start calling him by his name.”

~*~

Malfoy doesn’t call Harry by his name so Blaise’s suggestion remains just that: a suggestion. 

“Potter,” Malfoy says, leaning over his back. “ _So_ good, so tight—” He pauses, the way he always does when he gets overwhelmed. “You’re so _good_ and you don’t even realise it, I love you so fucking much—”

Harry can’t reply; his body is too busy lighting every single nerve on fire, his brain and veins dissolving into pure liquid pleasure. 

After, when he’s got Malfoy draped over him like a safety blanket, he says: “I’ve decided what to do with my life.”

“Yeah?” Malfoy mumbles into his shoulder.

“I want to be happy. I’m _going_ to be happy.”

Malfoy lifts his head up to look at him. “That’s very noble of you,” he says. “How’re you going to go about it?”

Harry shrugs. “I’ll just do things I like.”

“Okay,” Malfoy says. “What about this pesky thing called _having a job_ so you can, you know, _earn a living_?”

“I have money,” Harry says dismissively. “And a house. I’m okay.”

For some reason, Malfoy starts laughing. Harry can feel the vibrations in his whole body, and soon enough the entire bed shakes with it. “You’re going to be a gentleman of leisure, then,” Malfoy eventually says, chuckling. "There's a thing I didn't see coming."

“I thought of it more like a house-husband thing,” Harry says. “While you and everyone else are out having jobs and contributing to society or whatnot, I’ll be at home making dinner and stuff.”

“I and everybody else?” Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Just how big a household are you planning on supporting?”

“You, Ginny, and Blaise.” Harry pauses. “Maybe a cat.”

“A cat.”

“Or a dog.”

“No, definitely cat,” Malfoy says. “Well, all right, then.” He flops back down onto Harry. 

“Okay,” Harry says. “Do you think it’s unrealistic?” 

“No. I just think you’ll be bored in the long run, having nothing else to do but darning socks and cooking dinner with only the cat for company.”

“Maybe.” Harry says. “But right now I think it sounds peaceful.”

Malfoy is so quiet Harry thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep. “Yeah,” he says, softly. “I think it does too.”

~*~

There’s a lot of things to be done before Grimmauld Place is fit for human habitation again, but there are also rapidly approaching exams and the ever present need to pretend real life doesn’t exist by way of getting his brains shagged out.

He’s not the only one. Harry wonders if Hogwarts has ever seen this much sex within its walls at once; finding vacant alcoves and broom cupboards becomes very difficult. Harry's Quickie becomes pornography central: he gets messages—pictures and racy letters—from Ginny and Malfoy when they have free periods, and Harry answers in kind. It’s a race to find either of them and an empty classroom to use in between classes (if he doesn’t outright leave class to meet them). It all seems impossible and unreal, as if every photo and every blowjob postpones the future by just a few minutes, when in reality all it does is hurry it along.

Harry eventually spurs into action and hires a professional cleaning service to deal with the house in order to not have to move into filth after exams, then agrees to Hermione’s rigorous exam preparation schedule to deal with the exams themselves, and, well, takes any chance he can to get Ginny or Malfoy alone even if just for a few minutes.

And then, suddenly, it's there. The future has arrived. The exams are over and the future is, unmistakeably, unavoidably, _there_.

It's no less terrifying now than it was at the beginning of the school year. It's just as endless and vague as it always has been, and knowing that there is a house (still in need of furnishing and serious re-decoration, but it’s _clean_ ) to go to and people to share it with doesn't make that much of a difference. 

Harry sits in the Great Hall with Ginny and Ron and Hermione at the end-of-year feast and plays the part; smiles and laughs along with them all and has another helping of pudding, but underneath it all his heart beats and beats: tomorrow he'll step into the void. Tomorrow the uncertainty starts.

At some point Ginny slips away to go with Blaise to the Slytherin dormitory, and Malfoy slips into her seat at the Gryffindor table. "Hey," he whispers to Harry. "Want to get out of here?"

Not really, Harry thinks. He doesn't want to leave the feast, and he doesn't want to leave Hogwarts. "Yeah," he says and takes Malfoy back to the Gryffindor tower. 

~*~

Later, when Malfoy's just fallen asleep and Harry is staring into the draped ceiling of his bed, Ginny turns up. 

"Harry? Are you awake?" she whispers on the other side of the curtains.

"Yeah," Harry answers, pulling them aside. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to come sleep with you—oh, Malfoy's here."

"Yeah." Harry glances at Malfoy. Sleeping. "I thought you were staying with Blaise?"

"He and the rest of the Slytherins are sneaking out to Hogsmeade tonight," she whispers back. "Well, except that one." She gestures at Malfoy. "I'll go—I'll see you in the morning—"

"Wait." Harry turns and gently shakes Malfoy. "Hey, Malfoy. Wake up."

"Don't throw him out on my account!" Ginny whispers urgently.

"I'm not. Malfoy, hey." 

Malfoy stirs. "What is it," he mumbles.

"Do you mind if Ginny joins us?" Harry whispers.

"Sure," Malfoy mumbles. Harry's not sure Malfoy's entirely awake and alert to really be answering, if he's honest. 

"Scoot over," he says. "Come on." He nudges Malfoy. "Get in here," he says to Ginny.

"This bed isn't big enough for three people," Ginny whispers, but she gets in anyway, pressing herself against Harry's back.

"Shhh," Malfoy says, voice sleep-drunk. "Sleep." Harry wraps an arm around his waist so he won't fall off the bed; it _really_ isn't big enough for three people.

"G'night," Ginny whispers into Harry’s ear. 

"Mmh," Harry answers, snug and warm in between them both. This is all right, he thinks. He's got these two. They’re his. It's safe. He can step into tomorrow with them, and it’ll be okay.

~*~

The train ride to London is uneventful. Blaise has a massive hangover so he sleeps through most of it, head in Ginny’s lap. Hermione is mostly quiet, looking out the window and occasionally joining the (sparse) conversation. Ron and Malfoy play several rounds of wizard chess (Ron wins, every time), and Harry tries not to think about how this time it’s not for the summer, this time he won’t be returning to Hogwarts in September, this time there’s no war to fight, this time...he has to _live_.

When they spill out of the train at King’s Cross, it’s chaos—everyone taking time to exchange goodbyes and see you laters, even to people they barely interact with. War will do that to you, Harry thinks, as he returns a wave and a shouted _cheers_ from another eight year student, a Ravenclaw he’s only ever spoken to in passing. 

There’s a lot of reluctance in the air, a lot of hanging on to moments, an unwillingness to breach the barrier to the outside world. 

Harry can relate.

In the end, there's just the four of them—Harry, his two people, and Blaise—left on the platform, everyone else having gone already. Even the train has left again. They're all looking at Harry; Malfoy leaning against the cart with their trunks piled high on it, Ginny holding her broom in one hand and Blaise's hand in the other, Blaise carrying his cat under his arm in a fancy carrier. Ginny is looking at Harry in that steadfast way of hers, as if she (still) believes he’s someone capable, someone solid and dependable, as if she knows that everything will be okay. Blaise smiles, as if he’s just seen something amusing, but Blaise always looks like that. And Malfoy raises an eyebrow as if to challenge Harry, as if to ask _what’s next, genius?_ , and the familiarity of it all brings a sort of odd calm onto Harry, as if the future is finally settling. Becoming present. 

"This way," Harry says, and leads them out of the station.


End file.
